


Drachen Eid

by PhantasmagoricReverie



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:14:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24834421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantasmagoricReverie/pseuds/PhantasmagoricReverie
Summary: The Warrior of Light discovers all too easily that courage and kindness, like all types of power, are futile.Feat. a gender neutral Au Ra WoL. Accidentally wrote in in 2nd person POV since that’s what I’ve gotten used to, whoops
Relationships: Foulques/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Drachen Eid

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to my dear friend for sharing thoughts on this with me and to whom I dedicate this fic to. You know who you are <3

You had come to Gridania for but one thing, to realize the agonizing visions of Ishgard that plagued you since accidentally brushing your fingers upon a lance. It is these same visions that prompt you to take the lance; an action that staves off the worst of which plague you. Such visions not only plagued you in your sleep, but in your waking hours as well. Such a  _ gift  _ proved to be a dragon of its own, with might and mettle to match, so you leave your clansmen behind. It is in a Xaela’s nature to travel after all, so it only natural for you to part from your kin and pursue the lance further.

Taking up the lance formally is necessary. If anything, instead of abating the visions that have plagued you, the tutelage of Ywain has only made your glimpses of Ishgard more vivid, more harsh, almost as if something is demanding you to head there, towards the stony spires that resemble the spine of a dragon. Yet you have long learned to command your face to reveal nothing, not pain nor ambition, but instead to exude the tranquility of a frozen seabed.

It is early in your journey in pursuit of power and answers that you employ such talent after returning to the Guild to make a report on your most recent assignment. You feel something is amiss and enter the training grounds inside the building and take in the sight before you, your mind processing everything quickly.

The Duskwight points his lance at you as you realize the current situation, but thanks to your years keeping your Xaela siblings in the dark about your visions, you have little issue with ensuring your expression remains in check. Your body still tenses up, ready for a fight if need be, but his lance stops short just in front of you. You look up from the pointed edge all the way to the face of the wielder.

What an arrogant man, is the first thing you think. Striding into the Lancer’s Guild, challenging the others and proclaiming that only the fearless can be a lancer as he withdraws his weapon. Arrogant, and perhaps a mite bit handsome. You turn to Ywain who tells you to disregard the rogue lancer, explaining that it’s common for them to challenge members of the guild. You feel that there is more to that, inclining your head as your tail flicks behind you, but he offers no further insight to the situation.

You shrug, letting the matter drop. After all, the sooner you can acquire power and strength, the sooner you can make way to the city of Ishgard, for answers, for peace, for pursuit of dragons.

Yet it seems that it isn’t the last you will be seeing of the Elezen, whom you have come to known to be named Foulques. He tells you of his name and that the real Stone of Courage is within the depths of Spirithold. You know that he is responsible.

It is with a series of similar events you become acquainted with the arrogant and antagonistic man. And perhaps that’s all you would have thought of him, had it not been for the many encounters you’ve had with him since.

Some of them are simple, with him often antagonizing you for helping those that you came across with on your way.

“I don’t know how you can help these kinds of people.” Leaning against a tree, he looks down at you to where you’re comfortably perched on the ground, taking a much needed rest. “They’ll betray you one day.”

“My, is that a hint of concern for me, dear Foulques?” You smile, having grown used to this common complaint. Though your tone is that one of teasing, you have picked up that his tone and warning of betrayal have become less abrasive over time. “If that happens, please let me run into your arms and hold me tight, okay?”

For a moment, he seems stunned. It isn’t like you to be so forward and he looks to the side. Had you been paying closer attention, perhaps you would have noticed the blush on his cheeks. Turning back to you, Foulques has the same arrogant manner as ever. “If you can find me, then sure.”

“Ufufu, I’ll hold you to that then.”

* * *

It’s a shame, you think, as you approach him in the night, the brilliant green foliage around you taking on a darker hue. Surely this is something that can be talked out—but when you see Foulques, you know that that isn’t the case. You ready your lance and you know what’s to come. Your blades would do the talking. Although you consider him a friend, no, because you consider him a friend, you will bring this to an end. And everything will fall into place, as it should be.

You duel Foulques and it is a harder fight than you thought it to be. Perhaps it is because you had begun to think of him as a friend, perhaps because you had entertained the idea of being something more. Your horns protrude from either side of your head, reminding you of who you are. Yes, the young Au Ra that sought to end the prophetic visions had already, in such short time, shed the skin of the young and naïve.

It is no surprise that you triumph over him, but you can pinpoint the moment despair and denial grip Foulques. You see the chasm behind him and move forward to try and help, but it only pushes him further away.

“Foulques, please—!” You don’t know what you’re asking for, but your heart drops when you see him fall out of sight. Before your mind can process it, your body is moving to the edge, hoping to maybe save him. But you see him as he falls off of the edge, into the black abyss, and the sound of his screaming haunts you in a different, more permanent way.

Shocked by the suddenness of it all, you fall to your knees, gazing into the abyss.  _ Loss _ . It is deeply felt and you don’t know what to do. With the others—the others you had been able to bury. You can’t go down there to find his body without ruining your life, but without a sense of closure a war rages on inside you. What did you do wrong? Had there been something you could do? Could this have been prevented?

And from your throat tears an off-key, broken song of mourning you had learned in your clan, in a time and place that feels lifetimes away. It is the only thing you can do for him, for yourself, for the things that could never be.

* * *

You are tired, tired of being powerless and weak. Instead of the snowy stonework of Ishgard, you see corpses. If you had taken on the path of a healer from the beginning, could you have stayed the hand of death? But it is of little value to ponder such things. You acquired the soul of a dragon, and like such a noble creature, you can only strive forward.

The strongest Dragoon; that is what you have resolved yourself to become. Your feet carry you to The House That Death Built. You will do this, alone, and gain the power to protect what you hold dear.

You enter the Palace of the Dead, deep in the throes of your grief, you can only think of acquiring more power, more strength. You became a Dragoon, slaying the dragon that is the visions of Ishgard, but at what cost? The Scions you’ve buried, the countless dead that you’ve encountered, the death of Foulques, all of these weigh heavy on your heart. It’s as if the agony of prophetic nature has been replaced with the agony of sorrowful nature.

It hurts and you think of nothing as you cut down countless enemies, cool and efficient, composed and resolved as Ywain had imparted upon you. Yet you also fight with an almost mad recklessness, seeing nothing but blood spray forth and leaving corpses in your wake.

The nothingness within your mind stops when you see someone that’s familiar.  _ Too familiar. _

The guilt is immediate and you feel your grief rise from within and your grief transforms into a source of strength. You will bring an end to this once and for all, whether he is known as Foulques or Duskwight Lancer, you know he is the same.

“M-my courage is absolute.” Those words he spoke to you before falling into the chasm only confirm your thoughts.

“Let us bring this to an end.” You raise your horned head, clad in the armor of a dragon slayer while resembling one yourself. Indeed, in that moment, your eyes are ablaze with the same fire of a dragon and you rush in, with the schooled expression of your youth and the composure forged over countless battlefields. You sing the same dirge you did by that crevasse, hoping that perhaps you can grant him peace. It is no longer a broken or off-key melody, but the syllables fall delicately like rain alongside your brutal blows. Perhaps it is a fool’s errand, to mourn while in battle, but you are confident and you cannot let an old friend suffer like this.

You raise your lance for the killing blow. A deep breath fills your lungs, and with voice so soft it may as well have been a draft deep within this crypt of the fallen, you offer your parting words. “Rest well, my dearest.”

And you thrust, verily and with aim ever true, right into his heart.

Perhaps if you had never pursued those dreams of Ishgard, you would never have had to taste this agony. Everything will fall into place, as it should be, but the price demanded is always more than you are willing to pay. 


End file.
